


Not that kind of pasta

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Creepypasta, Don't copy to another site, Experimental Style, M/M, Mild Voyeurism, Non-Explicit Sex, POV First Person, Reddit Entries, Referenced Wincest, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: I’m a graduate student, and my new neighbors areterrifying.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 69
Kudos: 216





	1. Chapter 1

**r/LetsNotMeet** • Posted by u/athenasowleyes 2 days ago

# Should I call the cops?

Hey guys, I’m actually writing because, I think I might need help? I’m not sure if I’m overreacting, or maybe this post doesn’t even belong here. I don’t know, I’m kind of desperate. I just hope someone out there has advice for me.

Anyway, I’m a graduate student, 24, female. I live near campus, on the ground floor of one of those big old Victorian houses that’s been divided into a duplex. I moved in four years ago, my junior year, and just stayed. What can I tell you? The rent is cheap and I’ve never felt unsafe. The street is well lit and I park in the back. 

Best of all, for the most part, the upstairs apartment has stayed vacant. This is nice because these old houses carry sounds like crazy: every footstep, most conversations. Let’s put it this way, if you have a downstairs neighbor in one of these places, chances are they know all your business.

About the upstairs. My friends and I joke that it must be cursed or something. I know, I know, it’s just an expression. Each year a new group of students moves in, but so far no one has actually stayed past like, Thanksgiving break. I don’t know why. What’s important is, the apartment is empty now and has been for roughly a month this time. 

I’m sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous. And right now, I’m kind of freaking out.

So that’s the background. Fast-forward to today, and I’m writing a research paper at my desk, which faces the front window. Now. This time of year, Texas is gorgeous -- sunny and mild, not too hot. Which means, I had my window open, and if I’m honest, I stared out of it as much as I actually wrote.

At this point, it’s the early afternoon, and I notice these two guys in this old car driving up and down my street. And this car, man. It’s pretty hard to miss. Bear in mind, when I say old, I’m not talking about some rusted-out POS. This car is mint. Long and black, some kind of vintage muscle car with an engine growl that sounds like it could eat a Prius.

Anyway. That in and of itself isn’t too strange, I admit. Still, something about the whole thing made me feel… unsettled. I got annoyed with myself. _You spend too much time reading creepy subreddits_ , I thought, _and it’s making you paranoid. And besides, it’s a free country, right? Two randos want to burn gas driving in circles? That’s a big old pile of not my business._

Now, though, I’m starting to wonder if that attitude was a mistake.

I had to run up to campus to pick up some books I’d ordered. I got back about, two hours ago, and the car? Was parked in the small gravel lot behind my house. The two guys -- who at this point I can see are older than the average student -- were standing by the trunk, shoving… something into duffel bags. Their clothes were clean, if a little old and worn. They wore blue jeans and flannel shirts under canvas coats that were clearly too thick for the weather.

They slammed the trunk hurriedly when they saw me pulling in, but… I spotted something that made my blood run cold. I only caught a glimpse, but I know what it was: They’d painted like… I don’t know, some kind of pentagram inside the trunk lid.

Yes, again. I know. I also know that pentagrams, depending on how they’re used, can be like, protective symbols. Still, they were acting so shady. I actually debated just going right back to the library, maybe a friend’s place. I’m still not sure coming inside was a good idea.

See, when I got out, I realized these guys? Are huge. I’m pretty normal-sized, 5’4”, and I had to crane my neck to look up at the super-huge one -- I’m telling you guys, he’s got to be like, 6’8”, he’s a giant. He has long hair and a lean frame, and I noticed his hands were the size of baseball mitts. Anyway, he flashed me this big dimpled smile and said, “Hi there. I’m Harry.”

I told him my name was Susan. It is not. My mama didn’t raise no dummy.

“This is my brother, Ron,” he said. And the smaller one, who himself is easily 6’4” with a scruffy face, broad shoulders and thick arms, just grunts at me.

Harry explained they were doing some work on the upstairs apartment, and they had a deal with the landlord to stay there until they were done. Okayyyy… I never heard of such an arrangement, but the house is owned by a small-time slumlord, who is absolutely cheap enough to let some sketchy contractors move in and work off their rent.

I also thought, _Great. Just what I need: construction noise._ But Harry was still talking, promising they wouldn’t need more than a couple of days, and they’d try to stay out of my way and be quiet.

The surly one shifted his duffel and I heard metal clanking. “Tools,” he grumbled, and honestly? That kind of pinged my weird meter too. Most of the builders I know, which is a few, since my dad is also a general contractor, treat their tools like holy relics.

“Just knock on the door,” Harry said, “if we bother you or you feel strange or,” that smile again, “if there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

I wanted to ask what out of the ordinary meant, but the brother, Ron, kinda grunted again, and goes, “Come on, Harry, we’re burning daylight.”

Harry shot an apologetic look, and they turned for the outdoor stairs to the upper apartment.

It’s full dark now, and I can hear knocking and rattling up there. But, that’s not the weirdest part. Guys… I’m pretty sure Harry’s chanting something in Latin.

Now, I’m not some kind of religious nut here. I’ve got no problem with… I’ll say non-mainstream spirituality. Wicca, Vodun, hoodoo, whatever. For fuck’s sakes, I know a couple of Satanists who are like, the chillest dudes in the world!

But these guys? I don’t know. After the driving around, the odd clothes, the pentagram, the mysterious duffel… It’s just too much! But, what would I tell the cops anyway? “Hey, there’s two creepy guys here in my building and they’re speaking in Latin?” They’ll laugh me out of town.

So. Maybe I just need reassurance. Tell me I’m being paranoid; like, this is merely the rich tapestry of human weirdness in action and not, you know, a crime in progress.

Or, if you’re feeling creeped out like I am, it might help me to hear that too.

I’m not crazy. I’m just not sure if I should be frightened right now.

EDIT: HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS THEY ARE DEFINITELY, TOTALLY FUCKING. After the knocking and rattling stopped, it wasn’t long until I started hearing thumps and moans. I’ve just decided to close my windows, put in headphones, and try to sleep. I’ll read and answer your comments as soon as I get up tomorrow.

EDIT: [update here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59358094#anchor2)


	2. Chapter 2

**r/LetsNotMeet** • Posted by u/athenasowleyes 1 day ago

# Should I call the cops? UPDATE

[ original post here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59343217#anchor)

Okay now I am officially freaking out.

First, seriously, thank you guys so much for reading and commenting. I feel super validated, like, I’m not being paranoid at all. Extra upvotes to the commenters who actually _recognized_ the creepy guys. Honestly, that was the last thing I expected in all this.

For those of you who haven’t/don’t want to dig through the comments, here’s what I’ve learned: These two guys are pretty obviously Sam and Dean Winchester. Fun fact, Sam actually used those first names when we spoke yesterday. And, just in case that’s not ringing a bell, they’re the nutjobs who filmed themselves on that murder spree back in 2011. They were arrested and supposedly killed by the Ankeny, Iowa police. Here’s the thing though: All the cops, all the secretaries and janitors and, even the county fucking coroner disappeared less than a day later. Since then, there’s been sightings of these two creeps, and that car, all over the country. They’re like evil Elvis or something.

Also, a few of you rightly pointed out that Sam’s mugshot puts him at 6’5”, and Dean’s shows 6’3”. Correction and apology, though in my defense, Sam is totally slouching in that picture.

So, yeah. I am absolutely calling the cops. I’ve only held out so far because I don’t really want a SWAT team coming in here and busting up the place. I feel like, they haven’t made any threatening moves against me, so, as long as the upstairs stays quiet, I can wait until they leave.

Though, as I’m typing this, something’s started going on up there. Knocks and rattles like last night but… I don’t know, it sounds… more violent? Like, something just banged the wall so hard, it knocked a bunch of my pictures down. I can hear shouting and… wind, I think, and, it’s really cold all of a sudden, so… I’m getting off this computer now; I’ve got to handle this.

I’ll update you guys once I’ve talked to the cops, okay? In the meantime, please. Wish me luck.

EDIT: [final update](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59395969#anchor4) (on r/nosleep)


	3. Chapter 3

**r/LetsNotMeet** • Posted by u/athenasowleyes 18 hours ago

# Should I call the cops? UPDATE 2

Hey guys. First of all, thank you so much for reading, commenting, and all your advice. I had no idea these posts would get so much attention. Mostly, I just wanted to say that I’m safe. It’s been a crazy day though, so, I’ll get you guys caught up the rest of the way tomorrow.

Also, I should probably note, this situation has taken a turn, and, out of respect for the rules of this sub, I’ll be putting the final update over on r/nosleep.

[ original post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59343217#anchor) | [previous update](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59358094#anchor2)

EDIT: [final update](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59395969#anchor4) (on r/nosleep)


	4. Chapter 4

**r/nosleep** • Posted by u/athenasowleyes just now

# Should I call the cops? UPDATE 2.1

Hey nosleep! Before you read this, I invite you to catch up with my story on LetsNotMeet.

[ original post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59343217#anchor) | [ previous update](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24572125/chapters/59358094#anchor2)

TL;DR – Two random guys showed up at my duplex and creeped me out. I thought they were killers as of yesterday, but now? I know Sam and Dean Winchester are heroes.

I should also say, I’m so sorry to anyone who was worried about me last night. Spoiler alert: here’s a rare post to this sub with a happy ending!

This is what happened. (I’m doing my best to recount the dialogue here.) 

I was about to get the police involved, when suddenly there was a loud knock at my back door. I peeked out the window and it was Sam. 

“Susan!” he yelled. Except, he didn’t call me Susan; he used my real name. “You okay in there?”

I don’t know what possessed me to go to that door. All I can think is, I learned young to listen to my gut, which in that moment was screaming I should trust him. Still, I snagged my cast iron skillet off the stove and held it behind my back. I left the door chain hooked but I turned the knob.

“Hey!” he said, and the look of genuine relief on his face backed up my gut feeling. 

“Hello, Sam,” I said, with a lot more confidence than I felt.

Half his mouth hitched up and he ducked his head. “So you made us, huh?” Meanwhile, all the noise upstairs had stopped. 

“What--” I stammered, heart pounding. “What do you want?” My hand was starting to ache from holding that skillet all awkward.

“Only to help,” Sam said. His eyes angled down at me -- seriously, that man is huge -- but, somehow, he looked… innocent. Trustworthy.

At this point, I was at war with myself. Everything I’d read about the Winchesters said they were crazy. Thieves and grave-desecrators, as if psycho killers weren’t bad enough. But, standing there, face-to-face with Sam -- the bigger one, the _delusional_ one -- I felt… protected.

Just then, icy wind ripped through my apartment, literally out of nowhere. My windows were still closed, and even if they weren’t? This was like, Minnesota winter wind, not fall in Texas. Goosebumps cropped up on my arms, and Sam said,

“Please. We can help.”

I don’t know what made me believe him. Maybe his calm, earnest presence. Maybe my own growing fear, what with a gale raging through my apartment. He clearly knew things I did not. So, I closed the door, and I slid the chain lock from its slot. 

At that moment, the house started shaking like we were having an earthquake. Windows trembled in their frames and the dishes in my cupboards clinked and rattled. Dean shoved past Sam, into the kitchen, carrying a claw hammer and a compass. 

“Hiya, sweetheart!” Dean half yelled with a smirky smile. “Dean Winchester.”

“She knows,” Sam said.

Dean did that grunt thing again, but his smile slid into something more genuine. “Sammy said you were a smart one.” He gave a little nod to the pan in my hand. 

I didn’t feel very smart, standing there in a rumbling kitchen with my hair blowing all around. Dean looked at his compass and marched straight towards my bathroom.

“Hey!” I shouted after him. 

“Trust me!” He shot back.

 _Oh, sure!_ I thought. No chance I was about to leave him unattended with a hammer, sudden inexplicable trust in Sam notwithstanding. I held onto my weapon and hustled after him. 

Dean knelt next to the bathtub and used his hammer to pry off a section of baseboard. Instantly, the overhead light started to flicker and, if it were possible, the wind got colder and the shaking got worse. I was shivering. I could see my breath. My vanity mirror fogged up and froze over. I rubbed my arms and looked around, pulse racing harder than ever.

Sam stepped up behind me, warm and reassuring. Promised me that Dean knew what he was doing.

“Hey, man, check this out,” Dean said. “Somebody’s been here before us!” And, from a little cut-out in the drywall, which had previously been hidden by the baseboard, Dean pulled out an Altoid mint tin. 

Just like that, all the mayhem stopped. 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered when he opened the box. Inside, I could see… some kind of charm. Beads and feathers, maybe bone? Under that, a folded slip of paper.

Sam asked me to switch spots with him. I agreed, and I watched from the hall as he peered at the feather-thing. “Talisman,” he said. “Clever. Kind of crude--”

“What’s that paper, you think?” Dean interrupted. “Spellwork?”

“Maybe.” Sam carefully took the talisman out and laid it on the open lid. Then he handed Dean the paper.

“Not spellwork,” Dean said. And he read aloud:

_If you’re reading this, I beg you to put it back in its box and return both to their cubby hole. I’ve stupidly let a poltergeist follow me home, and this is the only way I know to suppress it._

I threw up my hands at this point. “Holy shit. You guys _are_ crazy,” I said. No denying my apartment was in chaos, but… Poltergeist? Talisman? Spellwork? 

“Gotta be, doing what we do, sister,” Dean said, and he read on, “Says here the upstairs neighbors were jerks, so they only warded this place.”

Sam said that explained a lot, and I was like, “Um, no it doesn’t.”

They both looked at me like they forgot I was there. Sam asked if we could go outside for a minute, so he could ask me some questions. I don’t know shit about what’s going on, and I’m still not super eager to leave Dean alone in my bathroom, but Sam gave me that painfully earnest smile again and I gave in, put my skillet back on the stove and followed him out through the kitchen.

He told me not to worry, that Dean was actually a pretty good carpenter. “You’ll never know we were here by the time he’s done.”

“By the time he’s done what?” I blurted, sick of being in the dark and spiraling quickly toward a meltdown. 

Sam gently insisted he’d tell me everything, but we ought to let his brother work. He pulled a small box of I-shit-you-not rock salt out of his jacket pocket, poured a line inside my threshold, and shut the backdoor. Almost immediately, I heard the wind and felt the shaking start again. 

“He’s using a stronger charm than the one we pulled from your wall,” Sam said, like that cleared it all up, “so the poltergeist is pissed.”

“Poltergeist,” I repeated. Like… “‘they’re heeere,’ the TV people, the clown under the bed--”

Sam made such a face at that. “Sort of, yeah.”

“I’m supposed to believe that shit’s real,” I said. Not a question. Deep down, I already knew. 

He kind of gestured towards my rattling door. Which, about two seconds later, fell completely still. Sam said we could go back in at that point.

So, that’s what we did.

I needed a drink, and it didn’t seem right to crack a good bottle of whiskey and not share. And-uh, I’ve got to tell you guys, we then proceeded to get loaded while Sam and Dean finished their poltergeist-proofing. 

They explained that a previous tenant in my place had unintentionally driven the spirit upstairs. They said it had slowly escalated over the years, and that my latest former neighbors moved out after one of them got pushed down the stairs. He survived, barely, and they came here to get rid of it, hoping to stop it before it killed anyone.

Turns out, everything is real. Like, literally almost everything. Poltergeists, werewolves, wendigos, Swamp Thing -- who, Sam swears is as friendly in real life as in the movies. They assured me Bigfoot’s a hoax, and apparently what we call aliens are actually fairies. Oh! And the dudes from the murder spree? Some kind of shapeshifters doing a frame job!

Anyway, Sam and Dean, they hunt that shit. Look for it, on purpose, so they can save people from it. I would’ve never believed it if I hadn’t been here, but… I felt that wind, saw the lights blink, heard the rattling. Those guys rolled in here like the paranormal Orkin man: calm, reassuring, pretty professional, all things considered. 

And, they won! My apartment, I don’t know, it feels… different. Lighter, if that makes sense, like, there’s more air or something? I don’t know, it’s hard to describe.

Reddit, we had it wrong about Sam and Dean. The Feds have it wrong. They might be outlaws, but they’re not criminals. Like I said, they’re fucking heroes. Put another way, fuck the Ghostbusters, call the Winchesters.

As a side-note, I also think they’re actually husbands. Wouldn’t be the first time two guys from Texas got married on the down-low, I’m just saying. They sat hip-to-hip on my roomy couch, finished each other’s sentences, and made goo-goo eyes at each other all night, so, draw your own conclusions.

Side-side note: It’s only fair that I point out, once I stopped being afraid, I realized, they’re kind of hot -- you know, in that DILF-y way.

Anyway. The famous/infamous Winchesters left this morning while I slept off my hangover. On my desk today, I found this note on the back of a gas receipt:

 _Any more shit hits the fan, call this number._   
_(xxx) xxx-xxxx_   
-Dean

So, yeah. I told you guys this took a turn, huh? :)

I don’t expect to change anyone’s mind -- about the paranormal, about the Winchesters, about... anything, really. I just felt like it was important to tell the truth about them. So that, you know, if _you_ ever see them, you’ll know they only want to help.

If you’re still reading this, thank you so much for hanging in. I really appreciate you guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [share the shenanigans on tumblr](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/620219691030511616/laughablelament-im-a-graduate-student-and-my) ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> much love to [stripy-tights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/profile) for a lightning fast and thoroughly insightful beta! ♥


End file.
